


Nadir

by yeaka



Category: Sphinx and the Cursed Mummy (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27515152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: A cold night before it starts.
Relationships: Horus/Sphinx
Kudos: 3





	Nadir

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Sphinx and the Cursed Mummy or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Horus is the first to fall, and he _hates_ himself for it, loathes that he’s heavy and tired while Sphinx stands as tall as ever. Sphinx marches ever onward, undeterred by the raging winds of the desert and the ice-cold sand. It was fire-hot when they started, searing so painfully into the soles of his feet that he had to keep leaping off of it, and he couldn’t understand how Sphinx kept walking. But the moon’s risen high and washed the golden desert a bitter blue, casting everything in shadow. Horus’ legs are long past exhausted—he can’t tackle another hill. He collapses in a valley between dunes, and Sphinx finally stops. 

He glances back over his broad shoulder, not exactly _pity_ in his eyes, but not enough respect for Horus’ liking. To be fair, Horus doesn’t have much respect for himself either, not in this one moment where he can barely stand. He rasps, “Enough,” with finality, though Sphinx wouldn’t argue anyway. Never does. He’s cool and calm in the face of the greatest dangers, the hardest trials, anything and everything Imhotep throws at them. Horus tries to emulate the same strength and never wants to show weakness. But if he attempts the next test now, he’ll die in seconds. He refuses to fail. 

He insists, “We’ll make camp here and continue in the morning.” He glares at Sphinx, challenging, but Sphinx just shrugs and wanders back, trailing down the slope to where Horus is kneeling. Without asking, he scoops his arm under Horus’, and Horus would jerk away if he could. But he can’t. He begrudgingly props himself up on Sphinx’s meaty shoulder and lets those chiseled muscles drive him forward.

They find a shallow cliff, just rocky enough to keep from sinking in their sleep, with enough of an overhang to hide beneath. If monsters come, they’ll still be vulnerable, but hard to spot, and Horus is too tired to care anyway. He has the sour feeling that Sphinx would awaken just in time and slay them with ease, like he always does, because he’s _perfect_ that way, in all ways. Horus will never admit it aloud, but he knows it deep down. 

He curls up half a wingspan away from where his companion lies, cheek to the freezing floor, and closes his eyes. He can’t shake the feeling of grime, of sweat and dirt from the day, of little grains of sand wedged between his feathers. It’s disgusting and horrible. But turning back isn’t an option. He’ll face tomorrow with pride and storm forwards, reach the canyon, find the sword. He’ll be the one to hold it high and have his name etched in history.

That is, he’ll do all that if he survives the night. He tries to keep his beak clammed shut, but it chatters at the cold. His armour’s not enough to protect him. His feathers are too short. A groan snakes out of his throat that makes him want to cry. 

He hears movement behind him but doesn’t move—it’s only Sphinx, he knows it. He has those footsteps memorized. Sphinx pads closer, and then he’s settling down behind Horus, so close that Horus can feel him _everywhere_. Those thick thighs tuck up against his legs, rough trousers digging into his backside, tail draped casually across his waist. Sphinx’s muscular arms wrap around his middle and pull him in tight, _bare skin_ flush against him. Sphinx’s breath puffs over his shoulder, blissfully warm. 

Sphinx doesn’t say a word about it, and for once, Horus is grateful. He can’t roll over, can’t face his partner. He could never admit that maybe he _hoped for this_ , that cuddling Sphinx is something he’s done in the darkest depths of his mind on more than one frigid night. It doesn’t make Horus hate Sphinx any less by day. It’s just a complexity of his superior mind, an appreciation of an odd scenario he thought would never happen. Sphinx nuzzles into the crux of his neck like a sleeping kitten, and Horus refuses to think that it’s cute.

He doesn’t think Sphinx is handsome. He doesn’t adore the feeling of Sphinx’s arm around him, doesn’t savour the scent of Sphinx’s body invading his mind. But he doesn’t push Sphinx away either. 

And he hopes that someday he has the strength to burn this bridge down like he should.


End file.
